Russian Red
by Arsenic Kisses
Summary: Natasha Romanov is her own woman. She is the Black Widow and Matt Murdock has been bitten more times than he could recall. Now she's back again and he is only left to wonder: Did she come to protect him from harm or is it something else entirely?
1. Rooftops and Small Talk

Bella DeMuerte Here!

Ok so, Being a huge DD fan I decided to write this. It's a love story (with action packed sequences to come) centered around Matt and Natasha Romanov ( The Black Widow). I hope everyone enjoys it. I know I enjoyed writing it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline. DD and The Black Widow belong to Marvel ( and rightfully so :) )

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Roaring below him was the din of an 18 wheeler. Above; the duel engines of a jet plane. To the direct right was the shuddering clinkity clank of a busted air conditioning system. To his left, domestic dispute. This was Hell's Kitchen. A box of noise and calamity. A fish tank, full of creatures unaware of the hand that kept them alive. And how they would have laughed if they knew it was the hand of a blind man. The hand of a lawyer keeping them sound with his own brand of justice. How they would titter and guffaw at the inkling it was Matt Murdock.

He had situated himself in one of the noisiest spots in the Kitchen for no logical reason. Was his subconscious trying to overwhelm him? What horrible treachery if this was the case. How nefarious one's mind could be against itself. Matt cracked his neck, the minuscule snap barely making a ripple in all the clamor. Each sound wanted its own voice. The plane had flown past moment before and the truck went along on its way. And in 20 minutes, the air in the building he was settled atop of would sputter to a stop and wait another 30 minute cycle to start up again. Matt wondered if the couple would just agree to disagree.

The office was in shambles. Matt and Foggy were practically buried in cases and the gifts given by contented clients. Matt nearly took his own head off at one point on a low hanging basketball hoop. Foggy grumbled and groused about it all, but Matt could tell he almost enjoyed it.

Almost.

The slow, precise steps of another came closer and closer. He didn't hear their arrival, but that was intentional, he knew it. The snap of each heel as it made contact with the pebbles spread out on the rooftop gave her away.

" Natasha, you know sneaking up on a blind man could give him a heart attack," He heard her blowing the bangs from her eyes with supple Russian lips.

" I know, darling. But it's fun to watch you squirm." Matt pursed his own lips, inadvertently opening the wound that had just congealed. He sucked on the gash, turning around to face her.

" What do you need?" Matt groaned, remembering all of a sudden that he was wounded. Was that why he smelled the piquant scent of excess iron in the air? Natasha situated herself across from him, legs crossed.

" I came to check on you, Matthew."

" I don't need a baby sitter, 'tasha." She scoffed in that way that made her seductive. With it, he could see her chin and lips momentarily.

" By the looks of it, you need a straight jacket."

" I'm not crazy." He grumbled defensively, feeling his torso for any bloody patches. There were a few, but nothing major to be concerned about.

" We all are, Matthew. Sane people don't dress up in spandex." She gestured to her person, which was not entirely wasted on him. The rush of air from her movement showed a phantom outline of thigh and taught bottom.

" Unh." was his only response. She blew the bangs out of her eye again and drew one knee up to rest her head on.

She looked at him closely and without a verbal reaction, applied pressure to a wound that was bleeding a bit more than it should. His hand came up and cupped her elbow, helping her effort. There was a vast yet calming silence. It reminded them both of the halcyon days when they were together.

" Someone," she stated, almost tenderly, " needs to protect you from you."

" Hah!" he laughed, but it was half-hearted. Natasha flicked him on the forehead, her brow drawn in.

" You need manners, Murdock." He touched his hand to his forehead and rubbed.

" Are you feeling faint at all?" she asked a moment later.

He didn't know it, but she looked ashamed, her red tresses covering her face. He shrugged with nonchalance. She looked about and then peeled off his mask delicately, assured that the coast was clear. She looked into his eyes for a moment, feeling that familiar twinge. They were murky from the isotopes and yet, still beautiful. She pressed her forehead to his and felt for a temperature.

" You're too cold." She whispered, still applying pressure to the wound from before. He breathed in, unsure of how he felt with her so close. And she had practically reduced him to reclining on one elbow without a thought.

" Natasha...I'm fine, really."

" Matthew, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. You've lost a lot of blood."

" How can you tell if the costume is red?"

" Shut up. I'll hit you regardless." She replaced the mask on his face and stood. The Daredevil sat up, but the pain was ringing through him more acute than before. How had he gotten banged up so badly? Natasha crouched down and hoisted him onto her shoulders.

" 'tasha, put me down." She merely raised her fist in warning, hopping off the roof and using a grappling hook to propel them through the city.

Matt could smell his apartment around him. He was in his bed, under his sheets with only his boxers and various gauze jobs to clothe him. He raked a distracted hand through his fiery hair, getting trace amounts of currant and vanilla from the bandages that dwelled there.

Natasha.

She was somewhere in the kitchen. He could hear the rhythmic thumping of her sturdy Russian heart. Matt sat up slowly and waited for pain. Assuring himself that there was not a tweak or a twinge anywhere, he slid out from under the protective layer of comforter and into the doorway.

" 'tasha...." Matt breathed, his voice an odd husk of what it should be.

" Mmm, you sound about as sensual as sandpaper on a chalkboard." she joked, moving to the teapot. He felt the roll and rumble of her consonants down the back of his neck. Meanwhile, she had poured the hot tea over a mixture of honey and sugar, secretly drinking in the scent of it with a yearning for home.

" Do you want cream?"

"– Beg pardon?"

" Cream in your tea, Matthew. Do you want some?" He nodded dumbly, leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. What was she doing here? Why did she always just pop up unannounced into his thoughts and now into his life? But, that was Natasha. She had her own agenda and would follow it without pity or exceptions.

" Here." her voice lilted, pushing the handle against his fingertips.

" Thanks..." he murmured in return, sipping on it tentatively. It was just like she used to make, perhaps better than before. Natasha leaned her lithe frame back onto the counter top with a watchful eye. Black Widow. Romanov.

Matt had never thought her a much of a spider out of battle. If anything she was like a...well, like a comfort. She was that kind of glow you feel around someone who makes the bad things go away. Yet underneath it all, you could feel the potential lethality of her. Oscillating through her body like an electrical current. Like tamed lighting.

" – I said, are you distracted?"

" Mmm, a little. Thinking is a better word for it."

" What are you _thinking_ about?" purred the Widow. She was wearing some of his sweat pants and her sports bra. She knew he wouldn't mind and she had promised him secretly to wash them after she was done.

" Just, old scars," he paused, touching the gauze with hyper-sensitive fingertips, " and new. It never seems to end. " Natasha laughed behind smirking lips.

" It never does, _comrade_." she offered ruefully, her voice resonating in his ears. He sipped his tea again and again, draining the cup to the point where the sludge of honey and sugar left at the bottom slid down to his lips and over his tongue.

" You ever think about it?"

" Don't be vague, Matthew." she stated sternly, taking his cup and washing it out under the faucet.

" The job. All of it. The violence and the crime, the guns and the succeeding wounds that follow every so often. Do you think about it?" She sighed as quietly as she could.

" This is a couch conversation, darling." She spirited out of the kitchen and slid with the force of exhaustion onto the couch. Matt moved to follow and halfway to the couch, she answered his question.

" I don't think about it. It makes the rest of my life too complicated. And life in itself is already that." He plopped down, the sound revealing she was sitting with her legs tucked under her, head resting on her hand at the temple.

They sat in silence for awhile, her gaze at his neck, noticing how his shoulders sloped into his chest, the collar bone appearing like an unexpected cliff.

" What are you doing here, Natasha?"

She rolled this question around and around in her brain, thinking of the best way to answer it. There really was no correct way to answer and if she were to lie, he would know it without missing a beat; or rather, missing a heartbeat.

" I can't answer that, Matt...not without being highly embarrassed and foolish. Just trust that I'll be out of your hair soon." She continued to look at him as she said these things, watching his eyes search vainly for a visual stimulant, though he didn't know that they did. She had always loved how they looked when he was confused. His face would always match their child-like quality.

" Natasha, you can't be so evasive." he implored without trying to sound pathetically confused.

" I'm sure that what I said was not evasive!" she offered with a short, incredulous laugh. She bit her lip softly, staring at him. Why the feelings all of a sudden, and after so long? She knew that their relationship didn't work. They made great partners but horrible lovers. Not that the sex wasn't good.

It was great. Phenomenal, even. But that was beyond the point. She was still getting that warm feeling in her breast that she was taught to suppress and exorcize. Natasha reached her hand out and twisted Matt's flaming orange bangs around her pointer finger. They were still so silky, as lovely as when she touched them last. Matt could hear her trying to control the rapid palpitations in her chest, but she was failing. Or was that his chest?

Matt didn't see how this was happening after so long. He wanted to stop her, but she was already running her fingers though his hair with such gentle strokes that his ambition and rebellion was quelled.

" Tasha...." he managed, sucking in air with slight pleasure. She took his right hand and placed it behind her neck. This was not her original goal. All she wanted was to look at him and assure that he was still alive.... and now this.

" Just give in, love," she found her lips cooing, " I already have..." Then Matt did something he hadn't done since Milla went insane: he kissed with unabashed passion and youthful tenacity. And how he missed her full lips, the perfect match to his own. Why was it that Natasha always showed up like this?

He had asked this of himself earlier and now he didn't care what the answer was. She was here and that's all that mattered. Damn the dawn when it breaks, he'll have no regrets. He couldn't see it's muted blues and shade of grey anyway.

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Up next: Chapter 2: Dawn Breaks, Big Mistakes

Till then,

Bella DeMuerte


	2. Mid Morning Confessions

Chapter 2 is here! Thank you for reveiwing, I was really touched by your passionate reponses and happy with the watchful eye for grammer :) Thanks for keeping me on my toes and I went back and fixed it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this second chapter with more on the way.

Disclaimer: Daredevil and Black Widow are not mine

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Natasha woke slowly, her arms stretching out across the bed like they had every morning since she was about nine. Only this morning, her arm bumped into something warm and alive, which made her roll backward out of bed and land tensely on her the balls of her feet.

It took the ex-KBG operative an instant to realize that she was in Matt Murdock's apartment with the curtains half drawn and the smell or sweat and aftershave all over her. Slowly she eased herself onto her bottom, mid-morning light warming her skin in slivers.

Matt had not roused, but merely turned over with a sigh. She didn't have the slightest idea of what he was dreaming about and she didn't care. She had slept with Matt. Her abdomen wouldn't have hurt so badly if she hadn't. Distractedly, she picked up a small section of her deep crimson hair and toyed with it. This was not part of her plan and she allowed herself to be weak. She gave into something she had banished or otherwise locked away.

Slowly, she crept on her hands and knee over to Matt's side of the bed. She allowed herself to take a moment and look at his face, so placid in its repose. His shallow wrinkles sat contented in their place on his usually worrisome forehead. The sudden grip of emotion in her chest made her snap back to mission mode.

" Matthew..." She whispered, nudging his shoulder with the heel of her hand. His eyebrows smashed together lazily in confusion. A moan escaped his lips. Sex and wounds do not go together well, yet Matt did it so often.

" Matthew-" she commanded a little bit louder and was met with a defensive jab towards her face. To which, of course, she responded with a dodge, arms up in guard.

" Matthew! It's me-It's Natasha...." She soothed, moving closer to his tense figure.

" 'Tasha?" he questioned, his eyes searching the darkness.

" It seems I'm not the only one who has amnesia this morning..." she smiled, if not remorsefully. Matt lowered his stance and letting her gently push him down to sitting on well slept-in sheets.

" I'm sorry for the hostility, I'm just not used-"

" No need," she offered with a held up hand, " I awoke in a similar, less violent fashion." Matt smiled apologetically, scratching the back of his head. She patted his back and turn on her heel.

" Breakfast?" She called back over her shoulder.

Matt took his turn regretting, letting his posture slump and fall sideways onto the pillow. He was many things and now _adulterer _was added to the usually noble list. He betrayed Milla with Natasha and what was worse, Milla didn't care. She was so mentally devastated it wouldn't make a difference if Hell's Kitchen froze over and he could hang up the mask for good. He couldn't even touch her without an episode. Natasha almost purred with pleasure at the merest brush of his ultra sensitive fingertips.

Yet, he knew this was wrong. They'd have to discuss it and soon. This could not have been the reason she had come.

"It's getting cold, Murdock!" she called from the kitchen twenty minutes later. As he came shuffling in, she noticed an air of determination about him. After all, he was dressed in a suit, minus the jacket.

" Foggy called," he explained, " a new case just fell into our lap." Natasha set a plate of eggs, toast, and sausage, which filled the area with quite a tantalizing smell. Matt took no time to dig in and Natasha couldn't help but giggle.

" I'm glad you're enjoying it, Matty... But I've got something important to tell you." Matt gulped. Now was the moment. She sipped some coffee with a relaxed grip, but her face was serious as she began.

" A week ago, I was pursued by a group of ruffians. They were heavily armed and not too chatty when 'persuaded.' " Matt felt a chill creep down his spine, ignoring it with a bite of perfectly buttered toast. Natasha continued, oblivious to his discomfort.

" The one of them who squealed told me that they were sent to "take care of me", as an assignment from their boss, who they wouldn't say."

" But you handled it, of course." He said, wondering if this had a point or not.

" The little rat said he was taking care of any woman who had been associated with you, Matt. And that you would be contacted soon. I think you're going to be duped by this mysterious man, Matthew. I think whoever he or she is, they're going to get to you through the women you loved." Matt had by this point, placed his half eaten meal six inches in front of him with a push.

" Natasha, I trust you, but-" he paused, jaw muscles tensing, " What if you lead them to me?"

" Impossible. I killed everyone in the vicinity before seeking you out. They don't need my help finding you, love. Hell's Kitchen is not that big."

"None the less, what about spies?"

" _I'm_ a spy and I'm going to protect you from now on."

" Excuse me?"

" No arguments, Matthew. Give me a moment to dress and we shall go to your office."

" Natasha-!" But she didn't hear him. She was too busy pulling her extra clothes out from where she had hidden them all those years ago.

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Thanks for reading :)

See you in the future,

Bella DeMuerte


	3. The Morning Commute Blues

Chapter 3! And thanks to my Beta, girlwithoutfear, It is much more coherent and error free! And I lover her for it! So, let's get this under way, shall we?

Disclaimer: DD and Black widow are not mine.

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An unforgiving horn blared from the taxi inching by in the early morning traffic. Matt jerked his head sideways and knocked it into an unexpected pole. "Gah!--damnit!" he muttered, trying not to make his own ears bleed. The city was unforgiving, but today Matt had a sense that it was more relentless than usual. Perhaps it was just him.

Natasha stood casually in olive green cargo pants and a fitted, black shirt with a turtleneck and short sleeves. She had a total of nine concealed weapons and was not afraid to use them, even in populated areas. She didn't need the shades she sported to look as bad-ass as she was already. This effect was wasted on Matt as he stumbled like a true blind man, knocking into a street vendor and apologizing profusely. Natasha sighed and grabbed his arm.

"I'm sorry, darling," she said rather sweetly. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

Matt smiled as best he could and put his hand on her shoulder.

The vendor, whose merchandise was sunglasses and belts, was obviously having a good morning for a New Yorker and promptly stated, "You should watch yer blind man, sweetie. He almost broke four pairs of my priceless shades!"

Natasha narrowed her eyes but smiled none the less. She reached into her only non-lethal pocket and pulled out four pennies. "Here you are--replace them!" With that, she threw them onto the table and led Matt down the street. As they rounded a corner, Matt suddenly dug in his heels, breaking Natasha's stride.

"What?" she asked, her voice harsh.

"What do you mean 'what'? I'm completely blind today!"

"As you are everyday, Matt. Why is today so different?" She paused, realizing how unfair she was being.

"I'm sorry, Matthew. That was unkind of me..."

Matt seemed to looked at her defiantly, as if it would make the sting go away. "This villain you spoke of is no different than any other I've come across before... yet you insist on protecting me. What for?"

She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "This person tried to kill me, Matthew. I have more than a personal interest in it now. If you don't want this woman killer dead, I do. It is fortunate that most of your lady friends are deceased already."

"Natasha, you are walking the fine line between being a concerned friend and a jealous lover!"

Natasha scoffed, throwing her sunglasses up onto her head. Matt's grip around his cane was so tight that his knuckles were drained of color. She stared at him as he glared back. She huffed in defeat. "You make me so angry, Matthew. I sometimes wonder why I come to your aid time after time."

"If everything between us is so bitter, it's a wonder we can stand each other enough to--" he stopped. Last night came back to him in a rush, weakening his knees and making him dizzy.  
Natasha felt it too, but composed herself without a thought. "You're so certain you don't need my help, yet I remember a time when a certain baby needed care. And if I recall, you tried to kill the infant. That baby would be dead if it was not for me!"

"Wrong, Natasha! That baby would be dead if it was not for Karen!"

This wounded her. She reared her hand back to slap him, but could not. "I will help you with this, Matthew, and then I will go back to my own life. Consider this our last mission together..."

"Natasha, you forget that I was out of my mind when I threw that baby over the side of that building...."

Natasha began walking away, knocking her shades down over her eyes in the process. "As was I when I slept with you last night..." And with that she was gone, her scent lost to Matt in the crowds of the Hell's Kitchen streets.

This is insanity, Matt thought. Whenever we're together, it's like a paintball game. You get shot fast and hard, it hurts like hell, but you have fun doing it.  
Matt didn't know why he was an emotional masochist, but he seemed powerless to change. He chose to be with women who weren't right for him, and to fight against insane criminals.

Yet, why should he complain? He was a Catholic do-gooder who sported horns and promoted justice against the justice system. What kind of life was that? Matt sighed and tried his best to get to work, swiping the bit of blood coming out of his overwhelmed ears. Today was not his day.

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"Natasha!?" Foggy remarked with alarm as she sat like a contented house cat in his fourth story window sill. She had been there for awhile, but he hadn't noticed her until she finally whistled for his attention. Now, his hand was to his chest and his brow sweating fiercely.

"Hello, Franklin," she said, smiling with amusement.

"M-M-Matt's not here yet."

She slunk out of the window and took off her shades. Foggy remembered how pretty she was as she made strides towards one of the two client chairs by his desk. They had not gotten along initially, but over time they had settled into a functioning, plutonic relationship. Her steady green eyes observed his rotund figure sinking back into his chair, trying to ease himself into some sort of comfort.

"What brings you here?" Foggy asked the russet-headed Russian.

"Matt is in danger and I came to help him. But," she paused, pursing her lips, "we got into a fight and I left him to find his way on his own. To work, that is."  
"Matt's in danger!?" Foggy uttered impulsively, rising out of his chair once more.

Natasha put up a hand to calm him. "Don't worry. You're safe. It's-"

Just then, Matt burst through the door, dried blood caked under his nose and in his ears. Natasha sighed whilst Foggy freaked out.

"Foggy, calm down" the two said in unison.

She moved to him and drawing a tissue from her pocket, wetted it on her tongue and wiped away the streaks. Matt let her do this due to the fact he had given up trying to understand her complex personality.

"Overwhelmed?" she asked tenderly, almost in forgiveness.

"By many things, yes," he offered in return. What point was there in fighting with a comrade?

Foggy was so confused that his jaw hung agape and unchecked.

"Mr. Nelson! !" came their secretary's voice, laced with fear and slight distress.

Foggy depressed the intercom button timidly. "Y-yes?"

"Your ten o'clock is here, sir."

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Ta-da!

Tune in next time for the identity of the mysterious foe!

Till then,

Bella DeMuerte


	4. Fidel Fatal

Hey there! Sorry it too so long to get this us! I injured my ankle and had a show to do ( not in that order XD ). So, I finally sat down and wrote out the next chapter. Thank you to all of those who have put this story on their alert list, their favorite list etc. It's people like you that motivate me to write faster and better! I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

Disclaimer: DD, Foggy, and The Black Widow are all property of Marvel Comics. The idea for the flower, however, is mine.

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She walked in as if she owned the place. The way Lily had acted on the intercom, it was if a thug had threatened her. But this pixie of a girl adorned head to toe in five shades of red was anything but. She smiled without making a wrinkle on her porcelain cheeks.

" Hello!" Foggy exclaimed a little louder than he should have, " I'm Franklin Nelson!" The woman looked at him as if he was a cute but pitiable teddy bear and extended her hand to shake his.

" I'm Anna Fidel." she offered. Natasha had spirited out of the office just then, leaving Matt as the only un-introduced person in the room.

" Matt Murdock." He stated with a polite smile. She took his hand and shook it gently, as people often do when they realize the person they've just met is blind. She took a moment before taking a seat and waiting for the lawyers to face her from behind the desk.

" I've heard of your work from a client of mine. She was adamant that you two are the best lawyers in all of New York."

Foggy laughed happily, " Well, that's very kind of her. But, what brings you to us today, Ms. Fidel?" Matt heard the whizzing of a very, very small reconnaissance camera. _The Widow was watching._

Anna pulled out a manilla folder and flipped if open with a soft _fwooph_.Franklin leaned closer as Matt sat contentedly with his arms crossed.

" I'm sorry about this, Mr. Murdock. If I had known, I would have brought a copy of this in Braille." Matt smiled at her and stated that it was no problem at all. Anna placed a pair of reading glasses on her nose before pulling out a few pictures from behind the paperwork.

" This, is the Millon building. Mr. Don Millon is my boss, and he funds all of my medical research." She flashed the first photo with a flick and pulled out the next one.

" This, is my son." Anna stated ruefully. Foggy looked at it closely, trying not to gag. In suspended animation was an eleven year old boy, sporting an ashy blonde mop not unlike his mother's. Covering his body, various forms of cancer.

" He has 3 different forms of cancer, some of which has deformed his visage. But, he's my son, and I can't give up on him yet."

" Hence the suspended animation." Matt said, following along just nicely.

" Yes..." Anna said in mild awe. She mentally shook herself out of her stupor. Millon had told her about him, warning her not to be struck dumb by the power he possessed. Anna pulled out the next photo, a lone flower of brilliant pigmentations. Red and white expertly woven into it's petals that lead to a sturdy stem of greenish-silver.

" The Maximoff Bloom. A flower with the organic magnetic properties of the mutant Magneto. Our theory is that is could draw out the cancer if studied. But, the hitch is that there is only one known specimen."

" We are supposed to support the extinction of a plant?" Foggy asked skeptically. Anna smiled graciously, holding up a hand of reassurance.

" The organic magnetism makes it possible to find more of it's kind."

" A remarkable plant indeed." Matt offered. She took the pictures and placed them back in the folder, sliding it across the desk to the partners.

" My card is on the inside. Please call me if you are keen on representing me." Anna shed her glasses and clasped her purse shut. With a swift handshake to each, she left the office as confidently as she came.

Foggy leaned back in his chair, his rotund belly humorous in the brown argyle of his sweater vest. Matt readjusted his tie, feeling rather queasy.

" Plants." Foggy muttered.

" Plants." Matt answered as Natasha dropped out of the ceiling quietly.

" Plants." She affirmed, sitting herself contentedly in the chair Anna had just occupied. Foggy stood, grabbed his coffee cup, and sauntered out of his office for some much needed liquid energy. Matt leaned heavily on his cane, the great need to heave overwhelming the back of his throat. That breakfast Natasha had made didn't sit well after his morning commute. She moved to his side and supported his softly.

" You need an antacid." She commented softly.

" Or a garbage can." He burped before moaning. She pulled him over to the wastebasket in the corner and force him to his knees with a lover's gentle persistence. He wretched and shuddered, but nothing was giving. She held his bangs back, remarking internally on their copper sheen.

" I'm sorry, 'tasha..." he said weakly, gripping the can. She ruffled his hair and gave him a light peck on the cheek.

" Stop talking, start vomiting. You'll feel better."

" But...the food you made me..."

" I can make more. It's your stomach I can't duplicate. Throw up." So, Matt let himself vomit. And Foggy either heard the commotion or just knew that when the two of them were alone, he needed to give them space.

Matt leaned back after he was sure his stomach was empty. Natasha rolled her head around, aligning her neck with practiced efficiency.

" Suspicious, wasn't she?" Matt commented, wiping his chin with a tissue he had in his pocket by chance. Natasha nodded, her throat emitting a soft " mmph."

" Should I take the case?"

" You'd be committing suicide if you didn't. She has to be linked to this woman killer." Matt nodded softly, bangs covering his eyes. She passed her hand across his damp forehead.

" Think about it, Matthew. She's suspicious."

" Is this a Widow thing, or a woman thing." he asked in amusement.

" A little of both, love." The pair laid back on the slightly worn carpet of Foggy Nelson's office and intertwined their hands. It wasn't much, but it showed them that they were there for each other; the costs be damned. In the afternoon, they were going to work. For now, they enjoyed the silent equanimity of each other's company.

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Thank you for reading. Next chapter, the action comes flying in like DD through Hell's Kitchen.

Much, Much Love!

~Bella DeMuerte


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